


First Time for Everything

by yourdykeinshiningarmor



Series: What is Normal, Anyway? [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Parenthood, Parentlock, Return to the Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:21:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3683142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourdykeinshiningarmor/pseuds/yourdykeinshiningarmor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are adjusting to a new life with twin babies. So what happens when the Work calls?</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Time for Everything

Harsh morning light filtered through the curtains and fell across John’s face. He squeezed his eyelids harder together in an effort to block it as he rolled around to find a place in shadow. Once he found a blissfully dark patch of the bed, he allowed his eyes to open just a crack and survey the room around him.

He had found the bed empty as he turned over, but now saw Sherlock sleeping in the rocker they had moved to the bedroom after bringing the twins home two weeks ago. John marveled at how open and young his face looked in sleep. As his eyes travelled down his husband’s body, John noticed that one hand was limply draped in one of the cots. The cot was twitching slightly but the doctor figured that had something to do with the cooing infant within.

Grudgingly, John pulled back the comforter and climbed out of bed. The soles of his feet prickled for a moment as they touched the floor but it was soon forgotten in the pleasure of a good stretch. A quick glance at the clock told him he’d actually got five hours of (more or less) uninterrupted sleep, Sherlock having woken up to do the last feeding.

John padded softly over to the cots and took a silent moment to appreciate the scene: a sleeping (and slightly drooling, he noted up close) husband and two happy, cooing babies. They had had plenty of cheerful moments since coming home, but none had been quite as serene as this morning was; more often than not, if one was happy or sleeping, the other was fussy or crying, so this moment of complete contentment was one to be cherished.

Short fingers gently found their way into Sherlock’s hair, carding through the soft locks in an effort to wake the detective. He heard a sharp intake of breath as the brunette’s head snapped up.

“’severythingok?” Sherlock slurred through a sleepy voice.

“Yes, love,” John replied with a huff of a laugh. “You’re just going to have an awful kink in your neck if you stay here much longer.” The doctor gently tugged on Sherlock’s arm, guiding him to a standing position and walking him over to the bed. He helped lay him down and brought the comforter over his head. “Sleep.” John bent down an placed a kiss on Sherlock’s temple. “I’ll take care of the munchkins.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the name, never much of one for nicknames or terms of endearment. “’schildren,” he mumbled again, already half lost to sleep.

John chuckled as he tucked a stray lock behind the detective’s ear before walking into the kitchen to get the twin’s bottles ready. As his body repeated the motions that had become thoroughly ingrained by now, he mused over this new Sherlock that had appeared. John never once worried that the man would make a poor father, but was rather intrigued to see the little bits of him that changed, either in focus or personality. Sherlock was still as exacting as ever, but now his focus was almost solely on the twins, even to the exclusion of John and himself sometimes. Sherlock did manage to sleep more (caring for not one, but two babies 24/7 was apparently more exhausting for the detective than a locked-room triple murder) and was more willing to eat, even if the doctor did still need to shove food in front of the detective. Most amazing was the fact that Sherlock hadn’t complained once about boredom (or anything negative, for that matter); John supposed that the twins were, in some ways, the longest (and greatest) experiment that he (they) had started. 

John made his way back to the bedroom; a smile tugged at his lips at the sound of his snoring partner as he bent down to pick up little Abby. Preston had fallen back asleep so he left him for now, taking his daughter to the front room for breakfast. She was soon settled, happily nursing away on her bottle. John (apparently in a thoughtful mood) considered his daughter: Abigail Martha Molly Watson-Holmes. They had gone back and forth on names, John wanting something unique without being too out there, Sherlock wanting to pass on names of the people most important in their lives. They had agreed on Abigail (surprisingly it was both a Holmes and Watson name through the years), and already knew that if they had a girl (one or two) that they would pass on the names Molly and Martha. He sincerely hoped that she would pick up both women’s good habits and traits, despite the lack of genetic relation. John knew some things were based in nature but a good portion also rested with nurture.

John shifted Abby to his shoulder and patted her back until he heard a gurgly burp pass her lips. She was already going limp in his arms as a full belly tugged at the last threads of her consciousness. He settled her in the playpen before returning to the bedroom for Preston. John hated waking the sleeping infant but if they didn’t keep the two on some sort of similar schedule what semblance of normalcy they had would be thrown out the window.

The chair was still warm as John settled back into it with Preston (Preston Michael Gregory Watson-Holmes his reflective brain supplied, apparently he wasn’t done with analysis this morning). That they would include Lestrade in their children’s names had been a given (the man had done far too much for them both over the years) but John had been hesitant to suggest Mycroft. Sherlock had veto-ed the idea but not because it was his brother; rather he simply didn’t want the uniqueness that was associated with the name. They had eventually decided on Michael, after Mummy Holmes’ penchant to call Mycroft “Mycie.”

The sound of Sherlock’s phone ringing pulled John out of his reverie. He faintly heard the rustling of sheets as Sherlock reached for his phone and, John assumed, answered back. It was several minutes later when the soft padding of Sherlock’s feet met his ears seconds before plush lips left a dry kiss on his neck.

“Morning, Honey,” Sherlock whispered. He had found himself unwittingly using his pet name for John more often of late, especially when confronted with scenes of domestic bliss such as this.

John twisted his head around and met Sherlock’s lips in another brief kiss. “Morning, Love.” He smiled.

After gently running his finger’s over Preston’s head, Sherlock stood up and headed for the kitchen and clicked the kettle on. He busied himself with tea and toast making while John finished feeding their son. He smiled when tanned arms circled his waist and a head and chest pressed firmly into his back.

“Who was that?” John asked, knowing that he didn’t need to clarify. “That wasn’t nearly enough sleep, even for you. Hardly a nap even.” He felt Sherlock tense slightly, but didn’t say or do anything. Sherlock would find his answer soon enough.

The detective let out a breath. “Lestrade.” He took another breath before continuing. “He has a case… double murder, likely, posed as a murder-suicide. Locked room, top-story flat.”

John pulled his arms back as he went to the fridge for the milk. He instinctively smelled it before adding it to their teas. He added a bit of honey to Sherlock’s before handing it over.

“We knew that cases would start again sometime.” John smiled at the detective. “It’s ok if you want to go. The Work isn’t going to stop for the next eighteen years so we may as well figure out how to make it all work.”

Sherlock fidgeted.

John shook his head. “Out with it, then.” He knew the brunette had more to say about the call than he let on initially. The doctor picked up his tea and took a sip; his gut instinctively told him that he wasn’t likely to get a chance to drink it later.

“I’ll need you there, too.” He mumbled.

John nodded, seeing where his hesitance was coming from. He knew this was a possibility also, their children ending up at some point in their lives (and likely far too frequently) at a crime scene. They both knew Mrs. Hudson was gone (she wanted to give them time alone with the babies once she was satisfied they would get along fine without her) and everyone else in their immediate acquaintance (who could be trusted with infants) was working.

John took a deep breath. “Is the scene secure?”

Sherlock looked up, eyes suddenly bright. “I believe so. Let me text back Lestrade and ensure it.”

Before John could reply, Sherlock was a flurry of dressing gown on his way back to the bedroom, John assumed, to retrieve his mobile. John took another sip of tea, enjoying the last little bit of peace, before the outside world came crashing back into 221B.

\-------------

Sherlock was incredibly fastidious about getting the twins prepared for their first major outing. John had overheard him lecturing Lestrade about the safety of the crime scene (“And I will _not_ have Anderson near my children, lest he inadvertently lower their IQs” included) then proceeded to cocoon each babe in an obscene about of clothing (not that John really minded, it was January after all). Once both men were dressed (John had to remind Sherlock of this step), they each placed one infant into the slings they had bought, donned their own coats and scarves, and headed out the door.

Lestrade has stopped by hospital after the twins were born, but the rest of the Yarders had yet to see the infants. John was prepared for the oohs, ahs, and other sickly-sweetness that went along with seeing a newborn, but didn’t know how the detective would handle it.

“You will behave yourself,” John reminded Sherlock as they exited the cab.

Sherlock gave John an affronted look, as if he had no clue to what the doctor was referring.

“Don’t you even give me that look,” John chided, pointing a finger at the brunette. “These people are our friends and colleagues, and, as such, will be excited to see the babies.”

Sherlock scowled as he turned back towards the building.

“I will support not wanting anyone to touch them,” John added as he caught up to Sherlock, instinctually matching his stride, “God knows there are enough germs going around this time of year, but you will be polite if people want to look.”

Sherlock harrumphed; clearly not agreeing but also not finding any fault with the statement. His finger jabbed the button on the lift and, shortly thereafter, they were approaching the yellow tape that cordoned off the scene. The detective saw Sally standing on the other side of the tape and pulled his coat tighter around Preston (it was a bit chilly in the hallway after all).

“Didn’t believe Lestrade when he said you’d _both_ be coming,” Sally commented towards John, lifting the tape for both of them to enter. Sherlock continued on, ignoring the comment, while John paused to exchange pleasantries for the two of them.

“Yeah, well, I knew this would happen eventually.” John absentmindedly rubbed the curve of Abby’s back. “Hoped it would have taken longer, but…” John shrugged.

Sally nodded, watching as Sherlock danced around the room, one hand always over the infant on his chest. “Things getting on well at home, then?”

John knew that some people had expressed concern (not to him, of course) over how good of a parent Sherlock would be. They worried John would be left to do everything or Sherlock would forget he was watching the children and run off for a case or perform hazardous experiments near them. John knew the concerns were bollocks, as did all the people actually close to the couple. So to John, the question from Sally, as opposed to someone else, wasn’t one that made him bristle but one that expressed a genuine query into their lives.

John smiled. “It’s fine,” he said finally. “It’s all fine.” The doctor nodded and headed into the room to see what help he could give the detective.

Sally smiled back, understanding the meaning behind the words. Things hadn’t always been so civil between her and the dynamic duo, but several poignant cases over the years of their acquaintance had proved to her that Sherlock wasn’t the sociopath he claimed to be and John was most certainly not a satellite stuck orbiting the larger-than-life detective (if anything she would argue that Sherlock orbited around John and now the twins).

“So what’ve you done wrong?” John asked in way of greeting as he came to a stop beside the DI.

Lestrade snirked. “What _haven’t_ we done wrong?” He craned his head to sneak a peek at the bundle strapped to the front of John. “So, which have you got? Sherlock’s got that bloody giant coat of his wrapped tight around himself.”

John peeled his (also very tightly wrapped) coat and lifted the edge so Greg could sneak a peek at Abby. “You should stop by sometime if you want to see them properly. Too many people here to let anyone see or hold them.”

Lestrade smiled as he nodded in agreement. “God, I forgot how tiny they are.” The DI was nearly breathless in his awe. “I know how it all works, but new life is always amazing to me.” He looked up momentarily, surveying the area in front of them. “Then again, this job gives you a certain appreciation of life.”

“You’re right about that, mate,” John simply replied.

“John!” came a baritone cry from across the room.

Lestrade laughed. “Himself has issued a summons.”

The doctor smiled in reply. “Duty calls,” and he strolled over to the detective.

“Yes, dear?” John asked, using a pet name in public just to poke the detective a bit.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but otherwise ignored him. “What do you observe, John?”

John smiled but turned his gaze towards the body. Two women had been artfully arranged on the bed (even John could see that now after years of working with the detective) to make it look like one had been strangled/smothered before the other had shot herself in the left temple. He wordlessly accepted the gloves from one of the officers before he began a cursory examination of the bodies. He stood up a few minutes later and peeled off his gloves, exam as thorough as it could be until they were in the morgue.

“My guess is you will find they were poisoned, drugged, or both. Both women have a small blemish on the sides of their neck consistent with a needle prick.” John pointed towards the strangled victim, “Her’s is poorly hidden under the finger bruises, which I suspect were placed there peri- or post-mortem. They aren’t dark enough to be the cause of asphyxiation, even if that is the cause of death.” He turned to the other victim. “And her’s is nearly lost under the love bite. The GSW was also post-mortem. The splatter is consistent with her kneeling here when being shot but there isn’t enough blood.” John did a quick glance around the room. “And for once, some actually paid attention to which hand she writes with!”

Sherlock gave a wry smile; John had picked up on some of his observational skills and the detective would be lying to himself if he didn’t acknowledge that he found it entirely too arousing. “Well done, John.” He placed a peck on John’s cheek as he walked back to Lestrade. They hadn’t been intimate since before the twins were born and this wasn’t the place to let those feelings creep back in.

John watched as Sherlock gave his instructions to Lestrade, completely ignoring social decorums that he thought, by now, he would at least show to the DI. John took one more glance about the room, in case anything else relevant caught his eye, but instead he noticed the whispers. Not loud ones or ones with pointing but the quiet conversations that stopped when he got close or eyes flicking in his or Sherlock’s direction. A few of the regular officers had greeted them with smiles and congratulations, even Anderson had given John a smile and nod from across the room (he suspected Lestrade had given the man a warning). However, it was obvious that most of the people present either didn’t approve of them here (especially with children in tow) or were still flabbergasted by their relationship and the recent developments within it. John consciously knew that the opinions of these people didn’t matter but it still had a way of working its way under his skin. It was one thing to ridicule him, and even Sherlock to a point (he was a prat sometimes, after all), but the thought that someone was having negative thoughts about his children made his blood boil. There were kids in far worse places and much less desirable locations than their two babies, bundled warm and snug against their father’s chests. A hand on his elbow brought John back to the present.

“Are you ready?” Sherlock asked, head tilted, no doubt deducing what he was feeling.

“Yes.” John felt the sudden need to be far away from here and back in the safety of their flat. He made his way to the door, not even apologizing when he almost ran into another constable.

Sally lifted the tape for them again as they left and John noticed a frown on her face. John stopped and quirked his head; he could see her thinking. She opened her mouth once then closed it, going back to thinking. Sherlock had already reached the lift. John was about to turn around and leave when she finally spoke.

“Don’t worry,” she started, looking back into the room. “I’ll take care of it.”

John smiled at her, not needing any clarification on what she meant. He gave her a nod of thanks and jogged to the lift before Sherlock left him. When he fell in place next to the detective, John felt long slender fingers entwine with his own and gave him a firm squeeze. His heart gave a little jump and the doctor suddenly felt warm all over. Even without speaking a word Sherlock knew what was bothering him and how to best make him feel better. John’s grin grew; never had he felt as if he belonged in any one place as much as he did right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know what you think with kudos, comments, or constructive criticism.
> 
> You can also find me on [Tumblr.](http://yourdykeinshiningarmor.tumblr.com)


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